


flashback

by memeticallyengineered



Series: the life and times of takumi hijirihara [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa Gaiden: Killer Killer (Manga)
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Oma Kokichi Is a Little Shit, if danganronpa wont write trauma properly ill do it for em!, takumi cant catch a break, the danganronpa killer killer content we all needed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:01:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28142058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memeticallyengineered/pseuds/memeticallyengineered
Summary: some scars are etched deeper than others, and some wounds will never truly go away.
Relationships: Fujigawa Shuuji/Hijirihara Takumi
Series: the life and times of takumi hijirihara [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184825
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	flashback

Takumi Hijirihara put one hand to his forehead when he saw the tacky decorations put up in the dining room hall and wondered why he even bothered to show up in the first place.  
The black-haired detective was never one for parties. There was too much noise, too many people, too many things going on at once.  
But when Misaki cheerfully shoved an invitation into his hands at the last work meeting, he decided he might as well show up.  
Streamers hung off the walls and several overly bright holiday decorations were stuck to tables around the room. Already, more than one kiss had been stolen because of a few pieces of mistletoe strung from the ceiling.  
He spotted Shuji at the corner of the room, his childhood friend. He was talking to a blonde wearing pink. She smelled of motor oil and had already told several crass jokes that could be heard from across the room.  
A blue-haired woman talked to a…… robot? He wasn’t so sure, but swore he could hear whirring every time they moved.  
There was a pair of twins by the door, a black-haired man who seemed as unsure of himself as Takumi did, and a brown-haired man talking to a woman staring at the screen of some outdated gaming console.  
He moved to the snacks table and poured himself a cup of punch.  
Takumi thought they all needed to be quiet.

He strikes up a conversation with the person next to him, a red-haired woman who kept scribbling into a dog-eared and worn notebook. She seems out of touch, not quite anchored to this world. The blonde next to her is loud and irritating, flaunting some new beauty product she received as a gift while others look on.  
The redhead introduces herself as Ryoko Otonashi and the blonde with pigtails as her sister Junko.  
Takumi personally finds Junko irritating and sticks to himself.

There’s a flicker of purple hair from behind Ryoko, and then a flurry of paper and noise.  
A bang erupts in the center of the room.  
Takumi drops to the floor. His fingers dig into his arms. The smell of blood and smoke fills his nose. Screams ring in his ears as he braces for a flurry of bullets he knows in his heart is long gone.  
Shuji rushes to his side, wrapping one arm around him protectively as the screams of long-dead classmates and the scent of long-dried blood flurries around in Takumi’s mind, the remnants of a tragedy from years ago. The massacre of fellow students, innocent children.  
The purple-haired youth laughs as he holds the prize from his party popper.  
Takumi shivers and lies crying curled in a heap on the floor.

Shuji puts a calming hand on Takumi’s shoulder, his warm touch a calming presence. Takumi takes a few shuddering breaths, slowly bringing his heart rate down to an acceptable level.  
He looks at the marks on his arms. Not deep, but bleeding enough to need care.  
A black-haired girl with a nurse’s outfit hands him a roll of bandages. He carefully wraps the scars, breathing deeply as the memories still echoed in his mind.  
He walked out of the room, sitting in a box from someone’s old present. The tight space was calming. It reminded him of that school locker, the one where he watched the rain of blood splatter from outside.  
Takumi takes another deep breath.  
The wounds on his arms from when he scratched them would fade soon enough, leaving only a silvery cross-hatching of scars.  
But he knew the deep wounds in his mind would most likely never heal.


End file.
